by Eileen Wilks
Benedict’s control was flawless, but it was not endless. “Benedict.”
Benedict kept moving without a word or a glance.
Rule pulled on the Nokolai mantle. “Benedict.”
This time Rule’s brother stopped and looked at him. His face was blank, all expression smoothed out. His eyes were wild. Wolf eyes.
“I give you a choice.” Only once had Rule felt the need to pull mantle on his older brother—when Benedict had been magically shoved into fuerta, a berserker state. He pulled just as hard this time. “Change now, and await news as a wolf, or go run.”
For a brief moment Benedict looked at him with the eyes of a wolf—keen, sharp, and thinking. But not thinking as a man does. Then relief shivered through those dark eyes. He lowered his head, acknowledging Rule’s authority. And Changed.
Humans weren’t able to see the Change fully. Perhaps you had to hear moonsong in order to see the way it threaded itself through a man, reaching out to grasp Earth so that together the two could fold him up through a place that was not here, yet was eternally present. For a second, the song of the moon reverberated through Rule, so clear, so pure . . .
Then a large black wolf stood atop Benedict’s clothes.
“I guess you didn’t want to risk missing the surgeon when he gets here,” Arjenie said briskly, stepping up to thread her fingers through Benedict’s ruff. “Is this better?” she asked her mate. Benedict nodded once.
“He probably also didn’t want to split our guards,” Rule said. He inhaled thoughtfully. Good. Benedict wasn’t easy, far from it, but he was better.
Arjenie looked at Rule. “He was okay, then suddenly he wasn’t.”
“He pushed himself too far. The problem with having excellent control is that we grow accustomed to it always being sufficient. We can confuse what we think should be true with what is.” Plus, Rule suspected that Benedict, whose mate bond with Arjenie was still new, had relied on it to shore up his control more than he should have. Rule pulled on the mantle again. Not hard, but enough to reassure his brother: If you can’t do what you know is necessary, I will make you. “Benedict, your duty now is to wait. I prefer you do so in this form. Scott will let us know when the surgeon approaches so you can Change to a less threatening form.”
Benedict nodded again, heaved a windy sigh, and lay down.
“I hope Scott can let us know in time for Benedict to pull on his pants after he Changes,” Lily said. “Dr. Sengupta might be rattled by a naked Benedict.”
“A lot of people would be,” Arjenie agreed. She’d folded herself to sit on the floor beside Benedict and was rubbing behind his ear.
Rule used his phone to let Scott know that they wanted a few moments’ warning of the surgeon’s arrival. Scott knew what the man looked like; he’d looked him up on Facebook earlier and confirmed it with the helpful Mr. Reddings. Rule put up his phone and repressed a sigh.
Respite was, by definition, temporary. Lily was pouring herself another cup of coffee, though caffeine was the last thing she needed. She looked like she needed the run Benedict hadn’t chosen. “Did you decide not to check on the ER doctor now?” he asked.
“Yes. I guess. I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her hair. Her other hand clutched the coffee cup as if it were a security blanket, but she didn’t drink. “I should trust Jack, I guess. Spells aren’t as precise as Gifts, so it’s possible he’d miss some tiny little trace, but that’s unlikely to be an issue. We have reason to think the contagion doesn’t transfer partially.”
“What reason?” Arjenie asked.
Lily’s gaze flicked to her. “While I was doing the trial-and-error thing, Karonski pulled the CSI team farther away from the body. He thought the contagion must have spread, seeing that it had reached Crown, who wasn’t that close to the body. Once we were pretty sure Crown could be treated, Karonski sent me to see how much it had spread. Turned out it hadn’t. It took awhile to confirm that. I had to cover a lot of ground barefoot, but in the end, I didn’t find any trace of it.”
“None?” Rule’s eyebrows shot up. “But the body—”
“That’s the thing. The body was gone.”
“If whoever stole the body caught the contagion—”
But Lily was shaking her head. “When I got back to the scene I found bones and hair and clothes, some scraps of sinew. No flesh or muscle. Creeped me out. By the time I left to come here, even the bones were dust. It’s like he was never there at all.”
“That’s—”
Mike spoke through the door. “Surgeon’s coming.”
Benedict Changed so quickly that, even as he thrust to his feet, he ended by standing on two of them, not four.
“Rule?” Lily asked.
“The surgeon,” he said tersely.
Lily moved to him and took his hand.
Arjenie handed Benedict his jeans. His thrust one foot in, then the other.
Mike opened the door.
Benedict pulled the jeans up.
Dr. Sengupta was short, wiry, and young. He smelled of blood, though his blue scrubs were clean. No doubt he’d changed. His eyes were bloodshot. If he was startled to find one of the family members zipping up his jeans, it didn’t show. He spoke quickly. “Dr. Two Horses made it through the surgery and is in recovery now. In addition to the pneumothorax, there was herniation and perforation of the left colonic angle in the pleural cavity and both diaphragmatic and abdominal damage. I chose to bring in a specialist for the abdominal repair. We were fortunate that Dr. Ransome was able to postpone the elective procedure he’d scheduled. He is a superb surgeon. You may speak with him later, if you wish, but he had another surgery and couldn’t meet with you now.”
Benedict’s voice was so low it was nearly a wolf’s growl. “What kind of abdominal injury?”
“Her stomach. Dr. Ransome believes that was the only area to sustain significant damage, and that he repaired it fully. Do you want a full description of the path the bullet took?”
“Not now,” Rule said. “What’s her prognosis?”
“Fair. Her injuries are grave, but surgery went well and she’s stable. It is possible she will make a full recovery, if we do not see any complications in the next few days. I understand she’s a healer.”
“Yes. A very good one.”
He nodded. “That works in her favor, certainly. Even without her conscious direction, her Gift is probably operating at a low level to sustain her. However, she must not attempt more.” The little surgeon frowned sternly. “Healing is physically draining. Her body cannot afford that drain. In a few days, I may allow her to attempt some limited healing under my supervision. That is very important. She is to wait until I am present.”
“I should be with her,” Benedict said. “In recovery. I can make sure she doesn’t try to use her Gift.”
Sengupta pursed his lips. “And you are . . . ?”
“Her father.”
The surgeon’s eyebrows shot up. Benedict looked slightly younger than Nettie. “That is . . . a remarkable claim.”
Benedict’s lip lifted in a snarl.
“He’s lupus,” Rule said smoothly. “Our age doesn’t always show. He would certainly be the best one to ensure that Nettie doesn’t try to use her Gift.”
Dr. Sengupta cast Rule a look, frowning but with some curiosity mixed in. “Very well. I will arrange it. Understand that she’ll be fuzzy-headed and in pain. Her instinct will be to heal herself. You must impress on her on how dangerous this would be. You must be firm.”
Benedict nodded once. “Where do I go?”
As the little surgeon gave directions, Rule considered the man’s surprising familiarity with the instincts and limitations of healers. He turned to ask Lily to find out if the man had a trace of that Gift.
She stood absolutely motionless, one hand still clutching the mug she’d filled and
forgotten, her face a blank mask—save for the tears slipping from her eyes, shining damply on her cheeks.
Fear leaped up, lodging in his throat. His hand tightened on hers. “Lily?”
“I . . . it’s Sam. He just told me. My mother . . .” Now she turned to look at him. “He’s finished, and it worked. Her mind is stable.”
EIGHTEEN
LILY rubbed the back of her head with one hand and tried to concentrate on the copy of Karonski’s report she’d gotten from Ida. It appended reports from the Big A, Erskine, the crime scene squad, and the coven. She had it spread out in hard copy with the database about the amnesia victims called up on her laptop.
Her head hurt.
It was one of those sneaky headaches that starts small so you won’t notice it and take action, but the little guy with the big crowbar had clocked in at some point and was hard at work prying open her skull. The little guy is industrious. As long as you’re still, he can keep working. If you move, it jostles him. That makes him mad and he whacks you with the damn crowbar.
The doorbell chimed, Lily raised her head and the little guy whacked her. She winced. Maybe she’d better take something.
She was in a tiny corner bedroom of the house that would get around to feeling like home one of these days. The bedroom on one side of her held Grandmother and Li Qin. Apparently Grandmother was no longer pretending Li Qin was just a companion; that room had a double bed. On the other side was the temporary master bedroom, with Toby’s room just beyond. They were using this one as an office, though instead of a desk it held the dining table that used to sit at one end of their apartment. Lily still didn’t understand how they’d gotten the table in here. It barely fit. Rule’s stuff was spread out over one end of the table. Lily sat at the other.
Downstairs she heard voices. Rule’s, for one. The other one was too faint for her to identify, but it was male. She listened intently a moment, but no one sounded upset. Not bad news about Nettie, then.
Benedict and Arjenie had stayed at the hospital along with a half dozen guards, whose presence was probably stressing the hospital personnel. Nettie had come around in recovery and done exactly what the surgeon had said she would—tried to use her Gift. But Benedict had been there and told her to stop it. Nettie wasn’t one to take orders and she’d been too fogged by drugs and pain to listen to reason, but he was her father. That voice had reached her on a level no one else’s could. She’d stopped.
It must be one of Rule’s men downstairs, Lily thought, rubbing the back of her neck. Though they didn’t usually ring the bell. She frowned, wondering if she ought to go find out, but the question didn’t seem as pressing as her headache. She had a bottle of water already and there were ibuprofen pills in her purse. She dug them out, swallowed two, and forced her attention back to the report.
Several minutes later, the stairs creaked as Rule came up. He didn’t come into their makeshift office, though; she heard a door open and felt him move into the bedroom at the other end of the hall. The one that held her mother.
Rule could move silently when he wanted, but it wasn’t necessary. Normal noises wouldn’t wake Julia up. Grandmother had said she would sleep at least eight hours and probably ten or twelve. Grandmother had looked so tired when she arrived. Drained. Julia had looked . . . the way she always did. No makeup and her hair was down, which was unusual, but she’d looked like Lily’s mother. As if she ought to wake up and be fine.
She wouldn’t. She’d wake up, sure, but she wouldn’t know Lily or her husband or anyone. She—
Shut up, Lily told herself and rubbed her neck and wished the damn pills would kick in. She needed to focus. There had to be some clue, some trail to follow . . .
“It’s midnight,” Rule said from the doorway.
“Yeah?” Surprised, she glanced at the top right corner of the screen: 12:07. “Someone rang our doorbell at midnight?”
“Paul brought more of your mother’s things.”
She didn’t want to think about that. She needed to get back to the report, but . . . “This late?” Susan had packed a bag for their mother earlier and brought it here; Li Qin had put the things away. “What did he bring that was so important?”
“Your father found a few of Julia’s childhood keepsakes. He thought she’d feel better if she has some familiar objects nearby when she wakes up.”
“Oh.” That was the kind of thing her father would do, too, spend however long it took to unearth a few old treasures that might comfort his wife in her odd and altered state. Edward Yu wasn’t a demonstrative man. Lily didn’t think he’d said “I love you” to her since she went off to college, and not often before, but she knew he did. He lived his love instead of speaking it.
Of course, now he wasn’t speaking to her at all. Would he still be silent at her wedding? That would be jolly. Her mother twelve years old, her father not speaking to her . . . she turned back to her computer screen.
“Lily.” Exasperation rang clearly in Rule’s voice. “It’s midnight.”
“We covered that already.”
“You need to come to bed.”
“Not yet. You go on.”
He growled. It was an honest-to-God growl that ought not to come out of his throat unless he was furry. “I’m wiped out, and I need a good deal less sleep than you do. Sleep, Lily. You do remember what that is?”
“I need to figure out why. Look.” She twisted in her chair to look at him. “Motive isn’t always the answer, but it’s sure as hell part of the question. Friar didn’t do all this just to swipe at me. That may be a bennie, but it’s not the reason. Not his goal. What’s he after?”
“Beaucoup power, for starters.”
“He already has power. We don’t know how much, but we know the Great Bitch supercharged him. There are now seventy-nine amnesia victims. Seventy-eight of them aren’t connected to me, but something connects them. That’s where I’ll find the why, in that connection.” Angrily she shoved her hair back. “I just can’t spot it.”
“And you think staying up all night when you’re already short on sleep will help you do that?”
Lily made a noise in her throat. It did not sound like a growl. “That is so frustrating. Why can’t I growl the way you do?” She turned back to the computer screen. “Go away.”
“I have been careful.” He said that calmly. “I have done my best not to overstep or push or take over—and I am by damn tired of it! I’m sick of being careful with you when you refuse to be careful with your own bloody self!”
Lily had her mouth open to yell back at him when her chair jerked backward. Two hands landed on her shoulders and plucked her out of it, stood her on her feet, and spun her around. Rule glared down at her. “Would you bloody tolerate it if a subordinate refused to stand down and get some rest when he needed it?”
“Subordinate?” The word sputtered out as rage ignited. “You think I’m your subordinate now?”
“In the Shadow Unit, you are.”
“I can’t believe you said that. Is that what we’ve come to? You ordering me to go to sleep because you think you can?”
“Lily.” His eyes closed. He took in a breath slowly before opening them again. “How many times have you read those reports?”
A couple. Well, three, if they were talking about Karonski’s report. More with the database, but that hardly counted. You couldn’t absorb all those details at once, so you had to keep going back over it and over it . . .
“You can barely focus on that bloody screen. You’re in pain—I saw it in your eyes the moment I—”
“It’s just a headache. Humans get them, you know. If—”
“—and you are exhausted and determined to make yourself more exhausted. You are setting yourself up to make mistakes. Mistakes can get you killed. I understand why you’re doing this. You’re determined to shut out everyone and everything but the investigation
because that’s the one thing you think you can control, but—”
“Thank you so much for your dime-store psychology, Dr. Turner.” She planted both hands on his shoulders and shoved. He let go of her, but didn’t allow the shove to move him back. He still loomed over her, and it infuriated her. “And thank you for making me so mad I feel downright bright-eyed and bushy-tailed now. I think my headache’s on the way out, so if you’ll just get out of my fucking way, I can get back to work.”
“Your headache is better?”
“Yes, though you don’t get the credit for that. Contrary to what you seem to think, I am not a child. I took some ibuprofen, so you can take your orders and—”
“Good.” He seized her head in both hands and slammed his mouth down on hers.
Apparently he was done being careful with her.
The kiss startled her, but the real surprise, the thing that undid her, was the wash of heat that rolled up from her belly, liquid fire that lit up every nerve at once. Like plugging in a Christmas tree, she thought dimly as she grabbed him back and dived into that kiss. Every nerve at once, all of them singing and stinging, and oh yes, that’s good . . .
He was sucking and licking at her neck. She arched into him and got the first button undone on his shirt. “This is not makeup sex.”
His mmm sounded vaguely inquiring.
“I am still mad at you.”
This mmm suggested agreement.
“And you have too many buttons on this shirt. You don’t need all those buttons.” She tugged, but her angle wasn’t great and Rule bought quality clothing. No buttons popped off. “Dammit.” But she had opened up a bit of chest with that first button, and she wanted it. Wanted the taste of him on her tongue, so she aimed her mouth there.
This dislodged Rule from her neck, but his gasp suggested he didn’t mind. She couldn’t reach his neck very well—he was too tall, dammit—but she could get to the little hollow at the base of his throat. A thought intruded. She paused with one hand at his waist, the other headed south. “Did you do that on purpose? Make me mad on purpose?” He’d done it before, hadn’t he? Tripped her into temper because he thought she needed the outlet.